


Fairy Castles and Pterodactyls

by raelouise



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, D/s, Daddy Kink, M/M, sticker rewards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raelouise/pseuds/raelouise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An age play exploration fic, in which stickers are used as a reward.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Nineteen year old Harry, who goes all pigeon-toed when they come to a halt at the Crayola-swamped stationary shelves, his chin ducking to let his fringe of curls sway over his shy eyes. Ben just smiles, endeared as always by Harry’s display. His flushed cheeks that would feel fever hot if Ben were to touch them with the back of his hand, as though checking for a temperature. It’s genuine- the niggling worry that some passing family will guess at what goes on in their bedroom- but going coy in company is also an integral part of their role play. Testing the balance of a seesaw that tips between risk and authenticity.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Castles and Pterodactyls

**Author's Note:**

> This is super sexual age play heavy, just as a little warning. 
> 
> Originally inspired by [this](http://p1ss.us/post/36232876921/cause-youre-my-tenderoni#.Uq3mIWRdW3k).

Toys R Us never decreases in size. It’s fluorescently lit magic. Like, very likely _literally_ magic; it’s ceilings just as cavernous and it’s aisles just as vast and infinitely stocked seeming to five foot eleven high Harry as they were to three foot high Harry. Five foot eleven Harry who feels three foot high when his hand is tightly encased inside of Ben’s, not used to a hand being bigger than his, and his Spiderman boxer briefs are concealed beneath his skinny jeans, anyway. Toys R Us fills that Harry up with Wendy-reaching-Neverland wonder. It’s always an adventure and they never manage to explore the entirety of it when they pop in for something aimed at the under-tens. 

Nineteen year old Harry, who goes all pigeon-toed when they come to a halt at the Crayola-swamped stationary shelves, his chin ducking to let his fringe of curls sway over his shy eyes. Ben just smiles, endeared as always by Harry’s display. His flushed cheeks that would feel fever hot if Ben were to touch them with the back of his hand, as though checking for a temperature. It’s genuine- the niggling worry that some passing family will guess at what goes on in their bedroom- but going coy in company is also an integral part of their role play. Testing the balance of a seesaw that tips between risk and authenticity.

Little Harry actually craves the tugging swirl of embarrassment in his belly, is the thing. The panic that paps will catch him in some mysteriously compromising situation, the funny feeling squirm when Ben teases him in front of their hipster friends, half of them closer to Ben’s age than his anyway, by checking his watch and tapping his shoulder with a murmur of _bed time I think, dude, I’ll be there to tuck you in a minute_.

“Did you want the stickers, then?” Ben asks him, pointing towards the rack, to cards of tiny technicolor cartoons beneath cellophane, “They have all sorts, look. Marvel ones, cakes and animals.”

Harry doesn’t reply, but he does nod and knock his hip into Ben’s solid side. Ben likes him for to be verbal mostly, so that he can keep track of how deep into the headspace he’s drifted- how safe he’d be alone if Ben had to nip out for some bread and milk- but Harry forgets rather often. His mouth fills with cotton wool when he starts to slip under. Of course he has what Ben calls his _moments_ , just like any kid- shrieking giggle fits and temper tantrums- but for the most part he’s a sleepy thing. Placid and soft as he figures out inventive new ways of folding his alarming amount of limb into Ben’s lap. Just wanting to nuzzle his nose up beneath Ben’s chin and feel protected by him. 

“Bashful today, are we? It’s okay, Haz. Let’s see. Are any of them your favourites? Would you like a closer look, do you need me to get some down?” 

They spend time inspecting nearly all of their options- Harry’s gnawed-at finger nail tracing indecisively over Batman symbols and rainbows and the sort homely old hippy teachers had pressed to his worksheets in infant school: _Well done!_ curved around the tail of a scientifically dubious dinosaur. He is a big fan of the praise Ben slathers on thick when he picks up something new, and is sure that he’d enjoy getting to wear it with pride on his t-shirt, but so many of the others catch his attention, too. 

There are even some that sparkle. More magic, shaped into holographic shooting stars and pretty princess castles. They’re maybe a little girly, Harry thinks, but his Daddy wouldn’t bat an eyelid at that sort of thing. Glitter is glitter and glitter is cool- even when he’s done some sort of project [last week’s card, for example] that results in them finding the stuff hiding out in their creases, between toes and butt cheeks and so on, for months afterwards. 

Eventually- just before Ben makes a comment about his hair growing in gray- Harry hands all but three sets back to him, choosing to keep a tight grip on the particularly non-fearsome dinosaurs, some smiley faces and the ones with all of the sparkles. He sucks on his bottom lip and squeaks the toe of his old white Converse against the linoleum flooring as he does, ready to bat his little fawn lashes should some bargaining be necessary, but Ben doesn’t fuss. They’re just a pound ninety nine each, after all. He’d probably buy him ten packets, should Harry so desire. 

“Are they going on Harry, or do we need sugar paper for a chart?” Is all he asks, rooting out his Burberry wallet and scouting out the check-outs.

Harry grins toothily and pats the packets against his chest, “On Harry. All over!” 

“All over?” Ben arches his brow in surprise and chucks his boyfriend under the chin, “Nose? Tummy? Knee caps? _Bum_?”

At that, Harry nods with the kind of guileless, self-assured wisdom only children manage, saying “‘specially my bum. When I take you real real good, yeah?” and Ben genuinely gasps, doing a quick one eighty to make sure that no poor shoppers were in earshot, offering a placating smile to a ruffled Mum of twins-

“Harry! You are a menace! Do I have to bribe you with prize machine money to have you shush?”

He has the decency to look guilty and tell Ben no, but by the time they reach their car, Harry has a marbled bouncy ball, and a wad of bubble gum between his teeth, as well as his promised stickers. It’s the usual way. When he’s all grown up and they’re eating a fancy lunch at some Michelin starred pub, Harry tends to cover the majority of their costs, so Ben likes to return the favour as often as possible. Paper bags of pick n mixes and toy sports cars coming as standard whenever little Harry [ _how little is little, Haz?_ he’d asked a few weeks after they’d begun, and Harry had wriggled in his seat before sheepishly shrugging] accompanies Ben out and about in various cities of the world. 

“How about if Daddy made a wall chart, too?” Ben sighs as he reverses out from their parking spot, his arm draped over the younger boy’s headrest as he turns to peer out of the back window- just as his Mum had done with him as a kid, “I could do with keeping track of all of these rewards you don’t really earn, you know. I’m slackin’!”

\---

The stickers go into _the drawer_ when they first arrive at Ben’s house and head up to the attic room Harry’s adopted, joining months worth of childish debris. Kinder egg prizes and crafts Ben can’t very well affix to the fridge door [as much as he’d loved to], the list of rules they put together at the very beginning and add to occasionally and old Ladybird story books they refrain from keeping with their more adult literature. Harry asks for those at bedtime sometimes, when he’s too stressed to get himself to sleep without Ben murmuring fairy tales in his soothing adult tones; one heavyset hand at the cracked spine of the picture book, the other rubbing at his boy’s curls.

The stickers come out again when Harry dismantles his lego fortress and clears up all of the tiny bricks without so much as a tiny huff, when he fetches the paper towels needed to mop up an apple juice spill and when he returns from the bathroom with still-damp soap-scented obviously-washed hands. Earns his little self two congratulatory dinosaurs for his shirt, a smiley face at the helm of his ship and a fairy’s wand for the tip of his nose. Plus a kiss for his forehead and a nudge towards to the dining room. 

“Do you want a sprinkling of cheese?” Ben asks as he sets out their dishes of pasta at the table- Harry’s on top of his Lion King place mat, the one with the tiny magnetic Simba that they recused from Anne’s garage and now keep hidden under his bed at Ben’s. Beside it, he has adult sized cutlery for his adult sized hands, but his water comes in a purple plastic cup. 

Harry accepts the cheese, as well as a second serving of pasta, and eating them both up earns him his next sticker- an _I am brilliant_ brachiosaurus pressed to his t-shirt, over his belly. There’s still a few twirls of fusilli on his plate but Ben doesn’t believe in making children eat beyond their cues that they’re full, so his beefy hand pats the sticker into place and Harry’s thighs quiver as it does. Cow eyes up towards Ben’s doting and endeared face. A face he only ever sees on Ben when they play out this game- although Ben does look fond quite often, it’s never quite as warm as when Harry is little and his in numerous ways. 

“So, babe,” Ben’s hand doesn’t move away, but his fingers do flex over Harry’s stomach and his t-shirt creases below them, making Ben smirk, “Do you think you need to take a nap, then? Only it’s been a busy day, and you always get sleepy after a big meal, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t want to sleep, but he keeps from arguing because he knows that really, Ben doesn’t want that from him either- not when the heel of his palm is pushing lower over his abdomen in the way that it is. Pinky sliding subtly towards his crotch. Usually, if Harry looks like he might actually need to rest, they hole up on a couch together. Burrow down under one of Ben’s big cashmere throw blankets, the grey tartan one that Harry can never keep from rubbing over the tip of his nose. Harry with his back flush to Ben’s chest, Ben’s arms bracketing him. Sometimes they chuck on a Disney film and Ben stifles his laughter if Harry sniffles into the blanket. Or noses into the hair at his crown- not failing to see the parallels between Boo and her Monster and Harry and himself. 

“Go wait on Daddy’s big bed, right? Get yourself ready for me.”

In his Daddy’s room, they rarely do anything close to snoring.

\---

Ready is Harry stripped bare, sweet and pale, perched at the edge of Ben’s king sized bed. Waiting is the excess of lube dripping secretly from his hole and onto the bedcovers below him, sliding from his arse to his balls. It is the blood-thrum of the boy’s neediness that’s half fueled by the knowledge of how desperate he’d been about opening himself up. How he’d snapped his teeth at the air for the not-enough curl of his fingers up inside of himself, even as he’d taken three, second knuckle deep.

Ready and waiting is Harry knowing just how to hide that with a coy dip of his chin when the older man finally comes padding into the room, Ben ever so cool and casual- even when his love’s thighs open further around his flushed, hard prick. Despite the glisten of sweat and the pinches of colour under his ink. 

“This doesn’t look like napping to Daddy,’ He admonishes, but it’s no prelude to corporal punishment today, not unless he takes to spanking Harry’s buttocks as he spreads them with his cock, “Looks like you’re about to get fucked. Is that what you wanted, little one?”

Ben presents Harry with a shimmery pink palace sticker when he verbalizes his consent, for using his words like he’s been told to time and time again. He never lets them go beyond cuddling if Harry doesn’t- especially when his headspace is even more breakable than the usual delicate trappings of teenage angst. It’s not that Harry becomes anymore of a burden when he’s inside of his little headspace- there’s far too much joy in it for that- but he is more of a responsibility. And besides, the innocent underbelly of himself that he offers to Ben is a gift Ben doesn’t want to jeopardize. Not just because of their filthy fucks, but because of the hanging out with primary-colored plastic-junk, the jumbo pavement chalks and the lazy all-day lap snuggles, too. 

The reward sticker ends up on Harry’s collarbone, and Ben’s lips end up at Harry’s jaw as both of his hands curl easily around his legs to coax them apart, giving himself ample space to step into and a killer view. Giving him what he needs to knock Harry back on the bed. Then, his hands slide up from the backs of Harry’s knees, along his taught thighs, until both of his blunt thumbs can glide into the lube in the cleft of Harry’s cheeks.

Harry keens.

“All wet for me, huh?” Ben whispers gruffly, somewhere near Harry’s ear, burning breath catching fly away curls, and Harry’s whole body rolls into his thumbs as he tries to guide them to the pucker of his entrance. Ben only teases, squeezing the flesh he has in his hands, rubbing with his thumbs but not touching enough, “Did you have your fingers here, where Daddy goes, were you bouncing on them, getting ready? Is it hard to take all of Daddy, is he big?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers shakily and Ben, never not gentle when they’re intimate, presses a sweet kiss to cheek, a flurry of others down to his mouth before he licks into it’s redness-

“Good boy, good boy. The best. I love thinking of your curious little hands doing dirty little things. Do you think you could show me how you did that while I get naked, yeah? Leave that cock alone, though.”

At Ben’s behest and beneath his smug watch, Harry fingers himself clumsily. His lanky legs akimbo and toes clenching against the mattress, two crooked fingers thrusting inside of himself, with no real rhythm to speak of, and his chin to tipped up to reveal the length of his throat, sternum, happy trail. A path for Ben’s gaze, down to his cock head which is swollen and obscenely pink, a fat pearl of pre-come at the tip smearing where it juts up over his belly. His cheeks go as dark as his dick and his lips are slack around burbled nonsense. Pleading and grunting at a whisper, he works himself into such a state that he could cry: over stimulated and aching for Ben’s to take the place of his fingers, to fill him up until it burns.

Undressed, Ben takes Harry’s wild-eyed and pretty face in both of his hands first and dots a kiss between the agitated furrow of the teenager’s brows. Centering him again with the slightest touch- a tender moment to remind Harry that he’s safe and really bloody loved. Harry stutters through a fit of strained breaths but then he’s calm again. Enough to offer Ben a smile. Sweet and dimpled like a little kid- ripe for debauchery. Ben appreciates it with another lingering kiss.

“Who am I?” He asks when he pulls back, just one hand still on Harry. Loose around his neck, a tangle of sweat damp curls about his fingers, “What do you want, baby boy? You gotta tell me.”

“Daddy,” Harry answers with a whimper, “My Daddy. And I want to ride you.”

Ben can’t keep himself from grinning indulgently as he proceeds to take his own place on the bed. Top and center, with the mahogany headboard and the splay of pillows around him making it look, fittingly in Harry’s opinion, much like he’s on a throne. Buff and regal in equal measure. Harry’s mouth waters for him, for the barrel of his chest and the throb of his fat dick. He has worshipped his body before, kissed from the tendons at his ankles to the super sensitive flesh behind his earlobes. Now though, he just seats himself on Ben’s thick thighs, right where his hands pat. The clamber across to them entirely lacking in finesse, summing him up entirely. 

Harry has yet to gain the grace associated with lithe bodies like his. He’s all gangly and endearingly unbalanced, and somehow, even after tripping over his model long legs, he feels small and silly with Ben- like he got tossed into a hot wash and shrunk by a good few inches. Ben, majestic, older and broader Ben, can manhandle with him little more than an errant grunt. Bind both of his wrists with a single hand, until the bones grind, or flip him and lift his pale arse up mid-fuck. 

“Look at my eager little slut,” He croons as he steadies Harry, and Harry knows that he shouldn’t preen for that, but he does. He always wants to please Ben, shadowing him when they’re together, jumping in on conversations and asking questions with big words in the middle, but it’s upped tenfold when he’s calling him Daddy, “You nice and ready, yeah? You remember how to do it? What comes first?” Ben asks, arm long enough to reach for a Durex from the bedside table. 

“Condom first. And do I get stickers after?” Harry can’t help but ask after he’s answered the question dutifully, hopeful about it as he watches Ben tear the foil in his teeth, expertly slip the rubber over his dick. “Please, Daddy?” He adds, voice hitching as he rises up on his trembling thighs so that Ben can guide the tip of his cock into him and then cracking with the sensation of finally feeling Ben entering him, even just the nudge of his head more intense than any of his prep, “For being a good boy and taking you so well, y-yeah? Please?”

Ben blinks, trying to process the new heat and his boy’s question simultaneously- “Shit, yeah, yeah. My lovely boy, anything for you,” He mumbles when he can, giving Harry’s side an encouraging pet and keeping his eyes as soft as he can manage as Harry sinks even lower, “Look at you, taking me like that, I’d find some way of giving you the whole fucking world, little love.” 

Harry sucks at his lip and nods, looking like he’s all lost for a second- until Ben’s right hand reaches up between his shoulder blades. His fingers splay out for Harry to rest against and use as anchor and his left slips from his waist to the top of his arse, thumb smoothing the dimples of his spine before he he cradles what he can- tips of his fingers ghosting against the boy’s stretched rim. Harry takes him so well, barely clenching around Ben’s girth after working himself open wonderfully- scissoring his fingers wide- but Ben being inside of him, all the way to his hilt, still takes him by some surprise. 

“Do you need to-?” Ben asks quickly, but Harry shakes his head before he can finish with ‘stop’, and Ben loves the stubborn tumbling of his curls, loves him, “Good boy. Daddy will let you move first, then.”

Whilst his clumsy hands get a grip on the knotted muscles in Ben’s shoulders, Harry rocks down on the older man; reminds himself how to take it when his cock slides in so deep, making him hiss and squirm. He sounds wounded, the whine of it pulling slowly from his chest, and yet so very wanting, too- with dragging, uneven breaths escaping from agape lips and his lashes so low his irises become a darker shade of green. Eyes like velvet and cheeks ruddy. A Rossetti that Ben has permission to leave ruined. 

“Look at you,” He croons again, his hips twitching below the teenager and his tongue greedy where it wets his lips, “looking just like art when you’re sitting on your Daddy’s dick. I’m a lucky man. Come on, my sweet boy.”

Harry in his little headspace is no expert shag, but his determination to make Ben proud is what makes bucking up into him intoxicating. It’s potent in the frustrated scrape of his nails against Ben’s skin as he fucks himself on him, scrabbling for leverage at his biceps and the insides of his elbows, and the sight of his lower lip being taken entirely by his teeth. How he comes to settle with his hands pushing down to Ben’s chest and Ben’s knowledgeable hands back at his skinny sides, showing him how to swivel his hips as he drops and grinds, switching up the pace and angle to make them both moan. Guttural and together. 

Harry’s gaze, when he can pry open his eyes, is awed and bright and only for Ben; starving, greedy for him. 

“Kisses, please?” He whispers- and Ben litters his pink lips with what seems like a hundred, at least; a sudden wave of love and gratitude brimming from him for the sweet boy bouncing in his lap- not even touching his own cock because he hasn’t heard word that he can.

Ben takes over that for him- jacks him off with one hand, the other showing him how to slow down his hips so that they can both ride out the last of the fuck. _Really_ feel each other racing towards their climaxes: the fast, slick drag of Ben’s palm over Harry’s sticky shaft and the catch of Ben’s cock at his entrance between thrusts. The furnace blast of Harry’s ragged breaths hitting Ben’s chest, before he ducks down to part his lips around the peak of Ben’s nipple and suck at it something fierce. 

Ben comes from that. The needy sound of Harry’s sucking amplified above his own panting and going straight to his dick, nestled deep inside of the boy. The spasm of his hand Harry’s cock as he does is what urges the other boy to his own orgasm, Harry painting their bellies with his spunk and seconds after, becoming quite useless. Able only to tip his full weight into Ben, his slack mouth whimpering, _please Daddy, help, please_ , against the galloping of the other man’s heartbeat. Ben gets both arms around him then, into a hug that Harry feels in his ribs, and holds him through the aftershocks of it all.

\---

The stickers reappear after Ben’s scrubbed their bellies clean of Harry’s jizz with a wet washcloth. Harry sitting where Ben had for their fuck, in his ruffled nest of sheets. Cross legged like a kid on a primary school carpet and grinning around the straw of a juice box, tossed to him by Ben to keep him from crashing too hard. He’s at his most darling post-coital; eyes blown out with bliss and hot flashes of colour glowing at his cheeks, eyes sparkling above the red of it. Ben is especially fond of the way his hair falls over his forehead and of his little toes, too, curling at the sheets to feel the cool rub of the cotton. 

“They say you shouldn’t give external rewards, you know,” He says conversationally as he sits himself in front of Harry, stickers in hand, “That they take away from a child’s internal sense of what’s right. You just want these see, that’s why you behave yourself, not because you want to be truly good.”

Harry though, is almost always an angel for Ben- no matter what’s at stake, sweets or kisses or toys. Ben knows that really. That without the promise of his stickers, he might of needed to be prompted to clear away his toys, but he wouldn’t of fought with him over it. He can’t help puff up with pride when he thinks of that: the way the power in their relationship is tipped in his favour but not in any way that requires whips or loud demands speckled with spit. It’s all about the arching of his eyebrows, the skim of his palm to Harry’s neck or counting down, steady and sure, from ten whenever Harry’s temper needs to simmer before becoming a tantrum. It’s in saying yes to impromptu toy shop trips and a few pounds spent on odds and ends nineteen year old Harry wouldn’t have a use for. 

It’s in the flicker that flares up, stunning brightly, between them whenever Harry chooses cartoon boxers while he’s sorting his outfit for the day. Briefs with pictures mean that Ben is Daddy, classic black and they’re more likely to have a slow, wine-drunk fuck after a grown-up dinner. 

“Never mind that though hey hun, bugger the child psychology, where am I putting this pegasus fellow? I think you’ve earned them all, if you’d like them.”

"I would," Harry says, quickly but quietly, tipping up his chin to give his chest to Ben, “And I do want to be truly good. For you.”

“I know kiddo, I know. Sit still now, kay?”

As promised, each of the stickers finds a perfect place on Harry’s chest, beginning at the brackets of his collar bones and finishing at the antennae of the moth sat above is his belly. He becomes as much of a spectacle as the multicoloured Toys R Us shelved he’d mooned over while they sought out his prizes; something like one of the collage pictures he occasionally makes at Ben’s breakfast bar, while the older man loads his dishwasher or works at his Macbook. Perhaps a little ridiculous looking, but no more so than some of fashion choices. 

Ben likes it a lot more than he does some of Harry double flannel debacles. He dances the pads of his fingers against almost all of the tiny pictures once he has finished peeling them and pressing them down, counting them under his breath. Oohing as though Harry’s an elaborately decorated cupcakes, with more sprinkles than buttercream. A riot of colour and more cute than Ben knows what to do with, as it sits all unaware and post-fuck pliant in his bed. Ben rubs a ‘you’re the best’ dinosaur in lieu of over thinking it, and Harry wriggles happily.

“You did so good today, baby boy,” He decides to say, “I’m proud of you for asking for something you really wanted, I’m proud of all the times you didn’t just clam up, how obedient you’ve been. Not to mention how well you took my cock, yeah?” 

Harry just gives a slight nod in response.

“You’re so awesome for Daddy, Harry. What do you need now?”

 _Just you, please_ , is what Harry whispers, making Ben’s stomach swoop and his cheeks warm, but afterwards Harry's lips open out into a dramatic yawn and Ben knows that what he really needs is a nap to recuperate from all the fighting feelings he had since they first found their parking spot outside of Toys R Us. The fizz of excitement and the butterfly flurry of nerves, the embarrassment and the tremors of arousal. So, he lays them both down with himself as the big spoon; his thick arms holding Harry extra close and his fingertips over the stickers again so that he can trace around his boy’s fairy castles and pterodactyls, and along with the blanket of silence that falls over them, the motion of Ben's tracing touch lulls Harry like he needs- until he begins to snore.


End file.
